A few minutes after, our darling friend fell gradually asleep, and
her last breath died away like the expiring flame of a candle. She
experienced nothing of the agony of death. Truly, dear Esther, Amelia
knew not what death was!

But oh! how I have myself suffered! and how difficult it is to tear
one's self thus forever here below, from such a friend as she was!

Nevertheless, my sister, God knows we have not dared to murmur. I
wish you had heard the prayer that Amelia's father offered up, when
his daughter had ceased to breathe! Oh! it was the spirit of
consolation itself which spoke! And since that solemn hour, what
piety, what strength and peace of mind, Amelia's mother his
displayed! I am sure you would have said, that the Lord was present,
and that He was telling us with His own voice: "Amelia triumphs--she
is in _My_ glory!"

I wished to be in the churchyard when our friend, or rather, when
her body of dust, was committed to the grave. There were many persons
present, but especially poor people; some old men, and several
children, came to take their last leave of her.

A grey-headed and feeble old man was standing near the grave,
leaning with his two hands on a staff, and with his head depressed.
He wept aloud, when the clergyman mentioned Amelia's name, as he
prayed, and gave thanks to God. He then stooped down, and taking a
little earth in his hand, said, as he scattered it over the coffin:
"Sleep, sweet messenger of consolation! Sleep, until He whom thy lips
first proclaimed to me, calls thee to arise!" And with this, he burst
into tears, as they filled the grave.